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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495338">I want to wake up where you are</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady'>lettalady</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blips and Blurbs [42]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, just a bit of fluff and warm fuzzies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:07:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blips and Blurbs [42]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I want to wake up where you are</h2></a>
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    <p><strong>     T</strong>he kitchen clock hasn’t displayed the correct time since the thunderstorm rolled through and knocked the power out. Even so, it’s late. And Tom? The man who was stubbornly insisting he would wait up for you until you got off work and came home? He’s… in the living room, apparently. That’s the source of the music at any rate. </p><p>You spy a sneaker clad foot, the limb it is affixed to cocked over the armrest of your short sofa. Tom is sprawled out and watching the end credits scroll across the screen of the TV. Poor thing hadn’t realized just how long a wait he was in for when he came to your place rather than heading home and tucking into his own bed. You’d told him you would see him in the morning. You’d told him to go home and rest. At least he’d found some form of entertainment to keep him occupied while he waited out your workday. </p><p>Apologies are on your lips as you approach, but the words die out when you realize there is soft snoring accompanying the end credit music. You tiptoe the last few steps. You’ll let him sleep. But where is the remote? Tucked beneath one arm, so no turning the set off yet. What are the chances he set a sleep timer? And is that a trail of drool you see emerging from the right corner of his mouth. </p><p>Home and waiting for you to walk in the door he’d managed just fine - awake to greet you, not so much. You bite your lower lip as you smile down, leaning against the back of the sofa as you watch him sleep. Poor Hiddleston. He’s been burning the candle at both ends lately. All the more reason to let him sleep. </p><p>But should you leave the sleeping man where he is? You’ll wake him only after getting changed and ready for bed… just enough to guide him up and to the more comfortable sleeping surface. You shift to grip the sofa back in prep for pushing away and quietly getting on with your night. As you do so Tom’s eyelids flutter and his breathing hitches. It’s as though he senses your presence and your preparation to leave. </p><p>Tom opens his eyes and blearily fixates on you. A hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “Hey,” he says, croaking out the single syllable word. He stretches, combining the action with a motion beckoning you towards him again before you escape his line of sight. </p><p>“Hey. Bed? Sorry I’m so late.” You connect your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze before releasing it again and moving to circle the sofa and help him up. He’s slow moving, still drowsy, and smells heavily of sleep when you bend down to hook one of his arms over your shoulder. It’s a scent that suits him, though you’re a biased source. “C’mon, love. Up. Up.” </p><p>He follows without much protest, but he pauses in passing out of the room after glancing at the tv screen. “Hmm,” he mutters, “Hardly remember the first fifteen minutes…” </p><p>Again you bite at your lip as you try not to laugh. “Good thing you know it backwards and forwards, then.” </p><p>Tom hums a little tune as he leans into you, bending to nuzzle his lips close. It’s a melody you can almost place Your brain offers up the words of the hook as he sings them:</p><p>
  <em>♫  I wanna wake up where you are. ♫</em>
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